


Five Times People Thought Brad and Nate were Knocking Boots, and One Time They Were

by accol



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 13:31:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11990823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accol/pseuds/accol
Summary: “A little romance by the light of the Mesopotamian moon?  A little frick frack in the Iraq?”Where everyone thinks Brad and Nate are together, and Gunny is a true wingman.





	Five Times People Thought Brad and Nate were Knocking Boots, and One Time They Were

1.

 

Christeson was zoned out, half watching Q-Tip doodle on his helmet, when he heard it.  At first it just sounded like a sort of slap.  Like something hitting the canvas cover of a humvee.  But then…

“Harder, sir,” Brad said.  His voice was choked off and straining.  “You have to--”

A grunt came right before a louder thud.

“Shit,” Christeson whispered.  He swatted the Sharpie out of Q-Tip’s hand.

“Screwby.  You fucked up my daisy.”

“Shut the shit up and listen.”

“To what?”  Q-Tip cocked his head to the side.  The noises were coming rhythmically now.   _ Slap, grunt, slap, grunt.   _ “Yeah?” Q-Tip asked.  “So?”

“So?  So, that’s the sound of Brad getting fucked by the LT,” Christeson hissed.

“Son, don’t play,” but he belly crawled with him around the side of Poke’s victor to catch a glimpse.  “They ain’t gonna be balls out--”

Towering above them, red and sweating, Brad looked down and growled, “Like the first plankton to crawl out of the sea, get the fuck on your feet.  Evolve into some motherfucking Marines and give us a hand with this.”

Nate snorted and yanked on the buckle with a hint of a grin.  “We’re pretty much done,” he said, giving Christeson and Q-Tip slightly concerned looks when they kept gaping.  “Are you two getting enough rest?”

“Yes, sir,” Christeson said sheepishly.  He yanked on Q-Tip’s arm and they helped finish rolling and strapping up Bravo’s barracks tent with a couple more grunts and a couple more slaps of the canvas.  

  
  


2.

 

“Dude!  Dude!  This dude says he knows something,” Meesh said, jogging over and tucking at least three packs of cigarettes into his already bulging flak vest.

He was tugging along a young man, early 20s, well groomed despite the utter annihilation of every village in a 50 klick radius.  The man looked up at Nate almost shyly, looked away, and then smiled coyly.  Nate squinted at him and then at Meesh.

“Ask him if he knows where the insurgents who launched those mortars are,” Nate prompted.

Meesh spoke rapidly to the Iraqi man.  The man kept staring at Nate like he was awestruck.  It was unsettling.  Meesh finally yelled something and grabbed the man’s jaw, forcing him to face Meesh and listen to him.

Finally the man said something back, cutting his eyes toward Nate again.

“This guy,” Meesh said, rifling through the man’s pockets and taking yet another partial pack of cigarettes, “says he will tell you whatever you want to know if he can take you down that alley.”

“Meesh--” Nate interjected, horrified.  He would never get intelligence that way, nor could he trust information gotten via… payment.

“No, no, no, no worry.  I told him you already with the tall one, so don’t worry."

  
  


3.

 

“Where did you get off to, Bradley?”

Ray shifted his gold glasses down his nose and needled at Brad.  It was truly his favorite pastime.  That and folding Uday and Qusay’s cigarette wrappers into tiny origami animals. Which he was doing now despite the fact that it was ass o’clock at night.  It’s not like he could sleep more than an hour at a time anymore.

“None of your business,” Brad said curtly.  A little too curtly, if you asked Ray Person.  

And so time for more needling.  The CIA should have recruited him for black ops interrogation.  This was his calling.

“A little romance by the light of the Mesopotamian moon?  A little frick frack in the Iraq?”

“Ray, get some sleep.”

Brad laid down and was quietly snoring within minutes.    

“That’s what I thought,” Ray said to no one.  “That is the sleep of a man who has just nutted on his LT’s sweet, pink mouth.”

  
  


4.

 

“It’s not right that you’re back here in Motor T when Captain America’s back on track to a medal through sheer stupidity.”

“It fucking sucks,” Kocher agreed.  “But don’t get yourself dragged into this.”

“I can ask around quietly.  Maybe you can get transferred to Alpha.”

Kocher shook his head.  “I know what asking around quietly means for you.  And I am pretty fucking sure you’d lose your shit and do something stupid like getting NJPed if he got wrapped up in my crap too.  He’s got enough bullshit from Schwetje that he’s shielding your guys from.”  

Brad’s hand clenched and unclenched around the butt of his gun.  

“I’ll survive,” Kocher said eventually.  He picked up a wrench and tightened a bolt that didn’t really need it.  “I’ll live to see another day.  Live to see a day where I’m the one getting my asshole licked instead of having to rim my superior officers for no joy.”

Brad chuckled, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?  Pretty sure your tongue up your LT’s ass is all about the mutual joy, so you’re good,” Kocher said, chucking an oily rag at Brad’s face.

  
  


5.

 

“See, the white man claims it’s their burden to do shit like this,” Poke monologued.  

Reporter had his notebook open.  He licked the end of his pencil.

“Invade countries full of brown-skinned people, sayin’ the whole while it’s for their own good.  Bullshit.  What kind of good are we doing around here?  Tell me.”

Reporter scribbled.

“I’ll tell you,” Poke continued.  “We ain’t doing a single good goddamn thing.  The only good thing that’s going to come out of this whole shitshow is our brotherhood.”  He gestured around the chevron of humvees.

Reporter looked up from his scribbling and nodded.

“Look at Ray and Walt.  Ray acts like an asshole and it makes Walt laugh.  Life’s simple like that.  Look at Pappy and Rudy.  Taking care of each other.  Look at Brad and Nate.”  

Poke paused, and Reporter’s pencil hovered over his page with anticipation.

“Young love is so beautiful.  White man, brown man, rich, poor.  Everyone can see the beauty of that,” he said looking over at Colbert and Fick standing shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, as they read a map on the hood of Brad’s victor.  “That’s the shit dreams should be made of.  That should be the white man’s real purpose.  Make love and all that hippie shit.  Leave the rest of us the fuck alone.”

  
  


+1.

 

“Nope,” Gunny said, putting a hand firmly on Lilley’s chest, not letting him pass.

“Come on, man, I gotta piss.”

“Pick a different head,” Gunny shrugged.  “This one’s occupied.”

Lilley looked longingly at the door.  It was the one bathroom that had running water on this whole hellhole of a base.

A loud grunt came from inside.

“Sounds like it’s gonna be a while,” Gunny smiled peacefully.  “Go on now.  Let the LT have his privacy.”

Another long, low groan came through the door.

“Damn,” Lilley said.  “Sounds like he needs it more than me.”

“You have no idea.”


End file.
